Blindness and Poets
Milton wrote of Paradise
while the weight of flesh
bound him in purgatory.
The thing with being blind
is that wind through trees is felt
with fingers. Blue sky is the taste
of sunshine on lips. Daylight
an increase of motion, night
a rendition of equality.
A blind poet writes the pause
between indrawn breath and silence,
the milky sponge of fog on his skin.
A blind runner paces the curve of applause,
the voices of well wishers.
Darkness draws marrow
from the bones of the sightless
and leaves them hollow tubes of ivory.
Polished and brittle like a bird's,
they covet the secret of flight.
while the weight of flesh
bound him in purgatory.
The thing with being blind
is that wind through trees is felt
with fingers. Blue sky is the taste
of sunshine on lips. Daylight
an increase of motion, night
a rendition of equality.
A blind poet writes the pause
between indrawn breath and silence,
the milky sponge of fog on his skin.
A blind runner paces the curve of applause,
the voices of well wishers.
Darkness draws marrow
from the bones of the sightless
and leaves them hollow tubes of ivory.
Polished and brittle like a bird's,
they covet the secret of flight.
posted by burning moon at 2:06 AM
4 Comments:
This whole poem speaks to me, but this line most of all:
"The thing with being blind
is that wind through trees is felt
with fingers"
I often think of wind and spirituality as sisters. You cant see them, but you can feel them.
Also the line that speaks of darkness as a rendition of equality for the blind. Brilliant.
I like the third stanza, and the description of the poet. To write the "pause" and be a sponge of fog...So true.
nice way to begin my day. thank you.
This is beautiful, thoughtful and inspiring. The last stanza took my breath away.
Christian
God Moon, I want to inhale this poem and only ever after, breathe these words when I write.
It is superb
oh hello you! what a lovely thing to say. Thank you!
Have a lovely Christmas with your family :)
moon
Post a Comment
<< Home